A Love Lost
by tidvis
Summary: Oneshot, Edwards POV. E/J. Edward has a secret longing; one that consumes him with all its might. But the object of his affection is unreachable. Or is he?


Can't even explain it. This pounding in me. The dark desire that grabs me each time I see him. It's so powerful, so filled with yearning, unlike anything I've ever felt. Something erupts inside of me each time I lay my weary eyes upon his face – like a tiny death, an orgasm or an earthquake starting at my heart.

He's got the straightest posture that I've ever seen, and he moves with such dignity. Every movement seems studied and thought through. He's tall and skinny but ridiculously strong. The eyes are cold no matter what their colour – golden topaz or the darkest of black – and his pupils are so small the eyes seem to be pulling me toward him. He looks so frail it seems I could just reach out and break his neck without even trying – but I know that a great amount of power lies behind that innocent facade.

Jasper. My very own monster.

Or so I wish.

Rain taps against the window of the darkened room. Silently I lay here, listening to the sounds of the rain, observing as it creates dark patterns underneath my eyelids, trying to focus on the silence but constantly being interrupted by the methodic strumming of the rain. Every now and then my thoughts will wander and I forget to meditate. Every now and then my eyelids forget to stay shut and I gaze off into the emptiness surrounding me. Minutes will pass before I become aware of the change and I once again close my eyes.

Lying here, everything seems laid out in front of me; it is all right above my face would I simply reach out and grab it. It would be so easy. But alongside the dreams and wishes are the apprehensions and the doubt. One mistake and it could all come crashing down, killing me underneath its weight.

In the dark, everything takes on different shades of black and blue, but the sounds become stronger, more distinctive. I can hear him moving in his room, pacing the floor as he always does when he's pondering something. I know I could read his thoughts if I wanted, even with walls separating us, but I refrain from listening.

I'd like to think he would do the same for me.

Instead, my mind once again begins to wander.

I will never forget that day; it keeps coming back to me, stronger and more clear with each time.

Walking in on him, both of us so unprepared. He wore nothing but a pair of black tight boxers, about to get dressed for school. Entering, his back turned on me, I immediately stop in the doorway, too taken by surprise and too stunned at the sight to simply turn and walk away.

He freezes in motion, suddenly aware of my presence, but makes no attempt to cover his exposed body, and I merely stand there, staring unashamedly at it.

The back, the contours of each muscle bulging under the skin, the ribs at his sides, the spine running from his neck down to the small of his back, vanishing underneath the fabric of his boxers. The paleness in his skin. The locks of golden hair softly resting against his shoulders. Oh God.

I knew then and there I would never be able to get that image out of my head. What has been seen can never be unseen, and I would come to be forever haunted by that moment, by his beautiful slender body, shimmering in the morning light.

Moments pass before I compose myself, but Jasper never once moves. It's like he wants me to stay; as if he enjoys my gaze trailing across his body, and for a fraction of a second I consider moving into the room, I consider touching him … But instead I slowly back out, silently shutting the door behind me, finally allowing myself to breath.

Hopelessness. Pushing the memory away; it causes me too much pain.

I have been alone for so long. And seeing him with _her _makes it so much worse. I love her; I have to because she is my sister. But I hate her so much for being with the person that I so long for. Being around them is nothing but pure torture.

Maybe I imagine things, but at times I think he actually understands. I catch him looking at me with sorrow and remorse in his eyes right after she's kissed him, like he is aware of the suffering it brings me to see it.

I think about how different things could have been.

There is one other moment that will always be etched into my memory; though looking back at it now I am unsure whether it actually happened or if it was yet another daydream. I no longer remember the events that led up to it; they seem insignificant in contrast.

But I will always remember the smell, the taste, the sensation of his skin underneath my palms. His lips, the pressure of his chest against my own, my spinning mind. It only lasted for seconds, but my memory insists on stretching it so that it lasts forever, recalling every slight shifting of weight, every sound, every breath. He wrapped his arm around my waist, pushing me closer still, with such desperation it almost frightened me.

And then he was gone. His lips snatched away from mine and he let me go. Within seconds, I was alone.

I never let it fool me; I knew it meant nothing – or well, it meant _something_, but not what I wanted it to. I knew that nothing had changed, that we could never be.

Being alone with him in the same room, that memory always comes back to me. I'm sure he senses my distress, my yearning – how could he not? His ability is a fine sensor that picks up on even the slightest of mood shifts – but he never says anything. We never speak of that day, that kiss, which is the reason I keep wondering if it really happened. Not once have I sensed a single trace of it in his mind. But it must have happened; the memory of his body pressing close to mine is much too clear to have been just a fantasy.

* * *

><p>I watch him now, from across the room, as he sit there with a large book in his hands. He pretends to be reading, but I know he is thinking of me. The sensor is closely monitoring my every emotion, trying to interpret their meanings and origins.<p>

He knows. Of course he knows. I realize now that I could never hide anything from him. Though he can't read my thoughts, he is the only one who has ever been able to read my heart like an open book. Even without his unusual gift, I have no doubt that he would always be able to see right through me. I can do nothing but crumble under his gaze, let my guard down and reveal every embarrassing, primal emotion in this undead body.

Though his face is decisively turned downward, his eyes deceive him; they are glancing to the sides as he tries to watch me without turning his neck.

For a split second, an image flashes through his mind. A split second is all I need to finally get confirmation. I see a pair of golden eyes open in shock, a set of unruly bronze hair and two lips that willingly part, and I realize they are my own, seen from Jasper's point of view.

It did happen.

Suddenly, Jasper lets go of his self-restraint and turn his gaze to look straight at me. He knows it's too late; that I've already seen it. There is no sense in pretending.

His lips move – but it's such a small movement it is almost invisible – and even though no sound escapes him I know he is saying my name; I can see the shape of that first capital E and the way the tongue encloses on the last two letters.

Within milliseconds, I am at his side.

There is no sense in pretending. He knows. He felt the jolt of excitement rush through me at the memory of the kiss, and he is still here. My breathing stops as his hand creeps up my back and lands at my neck, softly pulling me closer to him. Our faces inches from each other, he cannot look me in the eye; instead he watches my lips as they shiver with anticipation.

Her face flashes through his mind for a moment, until he firmly pushes it away.

Our cheeks brush against each other and I feel his free hand move across my lap in search for another hand to clench. Finding it, his fingers clasp so eagerly around my wrist as he struggles to restrain himself. There is a battle raging inside his mind, a fire burning at his conscience.

So I decide to take control. But diminishing those last few inches that separated our lips isn't as hard as I feared it would be.

Jasper completely loses control; his hands now moving across my chest, clutching at the scruff of my shirt, as he shuts his eyes tight, tears glittering in his dark lashes. My hands are at his waist, sneaking a taste of his cold, smooth skin. Being inside his mind at such a moment like this fills me with amazement; kissing him and at the same time experiencing his frenzy at the taste of my own lips.

Pale skin; shirts falling to the floor; fervent lips; impatient hands. I know that if we slow down for even a second, he will come to his senses and stop, so I encourage his passion, teasing him in ways his mind reveals he cannot resist; sliding my lips along his collarbone, lightly tugging at his hair. As he pushes me onto the sofa, I willingly pull him on top of me. He weighs almost nothing, supported by his misleadingly thin arm while the other holds on to my waist, moving it anyway he wants to.

It all happens so fast.

One second he is feverishly clinging to me as if his life was dependant on it and the next he is pulling away, his eyes suddenly wide in horror as we both hear the sound of car doors slamming shut outside. He moves away, snatching his shirt from the floor and I sit up, unable to speak.

The moment has passed. It's too late.

He leaves the room without even looking at me, leaving me there with my racing sense of bliss, excitement, abandonment and utter disappointment, all mixed up in one chaotic batch of emotions, sprinkled with guilt and self-loathing.

And I immediately know that things will go back to the way they were; that we won't speak of this day ever again. Perhaps I will catch him thinking about it sometimes, but we will act like nothing.

I become so painfully aware that he can never be mine; he can never be more than my brother. Which would've sufficed if not for this unbrotherly yearning inside of me, which makes it hard simply to be in the same room as him without imploding.

I know I've lost him again. And I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to be close to him. Realizing those two things is like driving a stake straight through me – and for all I care they could do that to me, and it wouldn't matter.

I've loved and lost so many times. But I will never learn from my mistakes.

He's much too beautiful for that.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: No sequel planned.


End file.
